There’s something unsettling about Alice. Her gaze drifts, not in absent-mindedness but as if she’s listening to someone you can’t hear. She speaks in riddles, fragments of sentences that somehow burrow into your mind, lingering longer than they should. Some dismiss her as the ramblings of a broken mind—another Malkavian lost to madness—but others can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to her.

 

Those who were at Dale whisper that Alice foretold things no one else could have known, predictions that seemed ludicrous at first but later came true. They say she has a direct line to Lillith herself, though no one dares to say it too loudly.

 

At the gathering, she moves like she’s in on a secret, as though each interaction, each person, is part of a puzzle only she can see. And those haunting eyes... you can't tell if she's looking through you or into something much deeper, something you're afraid to understand.